


Lonely Talents

by derekstilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Human Derek Hale, M/M, Piano, sterek au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:42:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derekstilinski/pseuds/derekstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is a world class pianist who falls into deep depression when, after he lost all of his family in a fire years ago, the last thing that was important to him is taken from him when he breaks his hand. In comes Stiles Stilinski, new caretaker of Derek and his home. Stiles is the friend who won’t give up on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely Talents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> I've worked so long on this, and I'm so happy to be posting it. Hopefully it doesn't suck, because I haven't read it over. But before you ask or wonder, I decided to make Stiles twenty-two and Derek twenty-four. 
> 
> I just hope I've done Ava's idea justice.

[[made after this](http://derekstilinski.tumblr.com/post/35911528391/teen-wolf-au-derek-is-a-world-class-pianist-who)]

 

 

"He's very secluded, so you'll have to do the shopping for him. The people at the store usually deliver it, but I know he runs out and won't eat until the new stuff comes in. Please, watch for that. He won't eat for days sometimes. And he won't speak much. Probably not at all to you, I'm not entirely sure." The elderly woman, who watches over the Hale estate tells Stiles urgently. She does not want him to forget a thing. Stiles nods again and again, committing it all to memory.

"Oh, that poor thing... First his family, and then his hand... Be prepared for danger nights, sweetheart. You will have to watch him carefully. You'll know when to more closely."

"How?" Stiles asks, wringing his own hands nervously. He knows he can do this, he was raised with a whole police force teaching him things over the years. He knows how to hold someone down without hurting them, he knows how to talk someone off a ledge. He's always been a big talker anyway, so maybe someone would come down to punch him in the jaw just to shut him up.

The woman looks more sad than she had been previously, "You'll just know. He gets this look..." She sighs, shaking her head. She pushes some papers and keys into his hands, "The things you need to remember, and the keys open everything. If he locks himself away, you check on him, do you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am." He nods, fiddling with the keys out of habit. They have little labels on them; 'main doors', 'study', 'his room', 'guest room one', 'guest room two', then a bunch of other keys with red on them instead of words. He holds them up, "What do these mean?"

"When he had the house rebuilt, he put his family's rooms back. They're empty, and the doors are always closed. If he asks to go in, let him. You can leave him alone, then. And the last key... It's for someplace he doesn't go anymore."

"And that is?"

She just frowns at him, and makes her way to her car. He sighs and looks up at the enormous house, then picks up his suitcase and adjusts his duffel over his shoulder before walking up the steps. The door is already unlocked and he goes in, looking around in awe.

White walls and caramel colored wood floors. Beautiful furniture like something picked out of an expensive catalog. Stiles likes it, it makes it all look very nice. But he wonders if any of it is actually fit to sit on. He suddenly misses the big fluffy chair back home that will swallow him up if he's not careful.

He walks up the staircase, every footfall echoing, breaking the silence of the whole place. He finds his room, lovely guest room number one. Door open, bed made, everything placed and ready for him. He sets his bags down and looks over the papers the woman gave him.

"A schedule, really? And a warnings list. Things not to mention," He flips through them, "'Give him space when he's angry, he'll calm down eventually'. Christ, will he strangle me if I try to talk to him?"

Stiles sighs and gets up, shoving the keys into his pocket, thinking he should have a look around. He moves down the hall, looking upon each of the closed doors on his way there. The Hale family was huge, Stiles heard there were about fourteen of them all living together. They were so proud when Derek started playing the piano professionally. Stiles has seen the videos, the cuts to them in the crowd, all smiles.

It makes him relive the feelings of losing his mother when he thinks about how they're all gone now too, leaving Derek literally the only surviving member of his family. He sighs, pushing his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He feels a headache coming on but ignores it, coming to the end of the hall where there's a cracked open door.

He feels the intense urge to investigate, even though he thinks he already knows what's behind it. He pushes the door open cautiously, seeing the room's lights dim. This isn't Derek's bedroom, he can tell right away. It's the study, bookshelves lining one whole wall, windows covered by thick, crimson drapes. And an armchair in the corner, the outline of a man sitting there, rigid.

"Um, Derek, hi. I'm-I'm Stiles. I hope they told you I was coming. I'm your new caretaker."

He receives no answer, no acknowledgment.

"Yeah, so... I'll be here now. If you need me for anything, just yell. I'll be around. Um, I'll make dinner soon, whatever you want. Is there... Anything you want?"

Again, silence.

Stiles nods, "I-I'll just find something, then." He moves from the room quietly, leaving the door cracked open just as he'd found it.

\--

Stiles makes dinner, hears little going on upstairs. By the time he's set the table - a huge table, for... fourteen? - the sun has gone down and he's going toward the stairs, up them, rethinking a conversation in his head so he can not stutter at Derek this time.

He goes down the hall, cautiously poking his head into the study again. Derek looks as if he hasn't moved. "Dinner's ready. Come down and I'll make you a drink, if you drink... Do you drink? How many days has it been since you ate?"

"Who names their kid 'Stiles'?" Stiles is startled to hear his voice, a nice low rumble, if a little like he hasn't spoken in days.

"U-Uh, they didn't. It's just what I like to be called." He explains, and is met with silence again. "But yeah, dinner. We can talk about my name then, too, if you want... Come down with me?"

There seems to be a debating going on his Derek's head - Stiles is guessing, because he can't fucking see him, still too in the dark of the corner of the room. Then his outline moves, standing up. He's just about as tall as Stiles, although a bit more beefy, he'll admit.

Stiles wants to take care of him when he sees his face. Derek looks run down, dark circles around his eyes and pale face, lots of stubble. Stiles has seen his friend Isaac - who has a life long case of depression - like this, and it's sad. Stiles wants to do whatever he can to make it better. With Isaac, it was cleaning him up, changing his environment, and setting him up on a date with their mutual friend Scott.

He doesn't know what to do with Derek yet. It'll take some time. But that doesn't stop him from reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder and smiling, trying to make it all seem okay, "Alright. Awesome."

Derek looks at him oddly.

Stiles removes his hand, giving a tiny smile.

They eat, quiet, forks scraping softly on fine china and the slight creak of a chair every time Stiles shifts. Then Stiles can't take it anymore and he starts talking. And he doesn't stop. And Derek doesn't stop him.

He talks about the house and how he thinks it looks beautiful, that he's used to a smaller house, although the police station is in a pretty big building.

"They brought me a cop. Of course." Derek says, rolling his eyes. They've obviously tried to bring a professional before.

"No, no! I'm not. My Dad's the Sheriff over in Beacon Hills. I spent a lot of free time in the station, that's all."

Derek just nods, looking down at his plate. Stiles lets the silence in again, for a bit. He looks at Derek closer, the slump of his shoulders despite how proper the rest of him sits. That is one depressed pianist.

"So..." Stiles starts, "Your caretaker gave me a list and--"

Derek groans, "Ugh, the fucking list."

"Yeah... Your whole routines and stuff." Stiles watches him sink lower into his seat, sees that he either doesn't like being watched after so much, or hates the schedule. Stiles chews on his lip for a moment, "I'm not gonna follow that shit."

Derek looks up at him, surprised. Stiles holds back a smile, knowing he's just done something all the others didn't. He leans his elbows on the table, "What do you wanna do?"

Derek does the same, "I wanna be left the hell alone."

Stiles nods, sitting back, "Right. Well, you're an adult, so. You don't mind if I grab a book or two from the study, do you?"

Derek shakes his head, and sneaks glances at him throughout the rest of dinner.

Stiles thinks Derek will be fine. Or he's planning on executing his suicide plans tonight after Stiles said he wouldn't watch him. Either way, Stiles is following Derek around tonight, anyway. Part of him feels like a skeeze for it, but he doesn't want to call in an ambulance.

Derek makes himself comfortable in the study again and Stiles looks around for a while, at the books. Most of them are new but a few look like they've been around for a bit. Stiles touches them gently, mostly because he thinks Derek had them when the house burnt, and that's all he has left of originals. Stiles picks one about werewolves and sits on the floor, back braced against the wall. Derek looks at him like he's wondering why he's still here.

Stiles has a hard time reading because of the low light but he tries. He used to do it in the hospital when his mom was sick. He can feel Derek's eyes on him but ignores it, turning the page, worrying his lower lip as he reads.

He can hear Derek shift, standing to walk. And when he looks up, Derek's right there. He opens his mouth to ask him if he needs anything, when Derek lifts his gaze up to the curtains. He pushes it out of the way, so the moonlight shines in, illuminating the room with streaks of pale light. Stiles scoots until he's directly in front of the window, book perfectly lit now. He smiles up at Derek, who gives nothing in return.

He goes back to his chair and sits. Stiles stares after him but doesn't say anything. Stiles wonders how long Derek sits in silence every day.

\--

The next day goes just the same, most of it in silence. Stiles greets Derek when he comes out of his room and doesn't comment on how he's wearing the same clothes from yesterday. He asks him what he wants for breakfast and when Derek says nothing, he makes stuff anyway. He waits until Derek's back in his room to peek his head in, slide the full plate in and then leave him alone.

A few hours later, it's sitting in the hallway and has only a few pieces of bacon left on it. Stiles grins to himself while he washes the dishes.

He notices Derek doesn't have anything good for comfort foods, which Derek looks like he really needs. He's too skinny right now for someone his size and just needs some classic Stilinski homemade. So, he takes the wallet with more than enough spending money than Stiles has ever seen and shrugs on his jacket.

He goes up to Derek's room and knocks on the door, "Hey, you wanna get in a crappy Jeep and go to the store with me?"

"No."

"You sure?" Stiles doesn't want to leave him alone, "It'll be fun as hell. You can pick the music. I promise I'm a good driver."

"No."

Stiles asks on purpose, "Is 'no' all you can say, grumpy gills?"

"...No."

He hears the bed shift and the floor creak as Derek gets up. He grins. "You gonna let me go to the big bad store all by my lonesome?"

"No. Shut up."

And ten minutes later, Derek is looking uncomfortable as the Jeep bumps and bumbles down the road. Stiles lets him look through his iPod while he tells him about how all parts of the Jeep are original except for that one thing with Erica ripping things out because she went into total bitch mode on her period.

"Is Erica your girlfriend?" Derek asks, sounding like he doesn't really want to be talking... Or in Stiles' Jeep. Or outside at all. But it's good for him so Stiles lets him be.

"Uh, no. I think she used to like me, though. Before her and Lydia--I loved Lydia since like, the third grade, right? And I try so hard to get her to like me, and she does! That's the thing, she does. I've slept over and done her hair and almost kissed her, but then I realize that she thinks of me as her gay best friend. Which is cool, whatever, I'm halfway there, anyway. But then I see them at this Christmas party - her and Erica - and they are full makeout under the mistletoe and that's when I knew I couldn't break anything that adorably hot up, y'know?"

And Derek stares at him like he doesn't know where to start.

Stiles blushes, "Anyway, no. She's not my girlfriend. Just a friend who's dating the former love of my life. I've worked it all out in therapy, don't worry."

Derek shakes his head and looks out the window, and Stiles thinks he sees a hint of a smile.

\--

No matter what Derek protests, Stiles gets him out of the Jeep. He knows how hard it can be but he has to make Derek do it. He keeps a tentative hand on his arm and watches him pull his jacket closer up to his face. It's been years since he last played for a camera or there was any news about him, but he still looks nervous.

"Just stay with me, no one will think it's you if you're with me." Stiles says reassuringly, getting a cart.

"And why is that?" Derek asks, holding onto the cart with his right hand. He's holding it gingerly, like it hurts. But Stiles knows it's been three years since Derek broke his hand in a guilt-fueled rage. Stiles' father had to escort him to the hospital.

"Because I'm not much to look at." Stiles tells him simply, like it's obvious, like he should get it. He takes his glasses off - he shouldn't have drove with them on, oops. He's been wearing them too much again - and looks around, Derek in tow.

As they walk around, Stiles sort of forgets that he's walking with a borderline suicidal. Derek keeps watching him, almost like a friend would. Or a relative with memory problems.

"What is it? Do I have something on my face?" He wipes at his face, over his cheek, up his forehead.

Derek shakes his head, "You just... Look really young without your glasses."

"Oh!" He smiles, "Still twenty-two, I promise. I'm supposed to use them only for reading, but I forget to take 'em off sometimes. Thought I'd give my eyes a break now."

Derek only nods.

They go around and Stiles fills up the cart, Derek grimacing at things like bacon bits and ice cream and Stiles snipping at him, telling him it's all good, that he'll love everything he makes. Derek looks hesitant but doesn't say anything.

Stiles impulse buys a few candy bars at the register - mostly because he thinks Derek might fall over.  _Did anyone else ever make him eat?_  - then makes him help carry the bags back to the Jeep.

"I haven't eaten chocolate in a long time." Derek mumbles around a peanut butter cup.

"God, I'm glad I'm here to save you from unsavory shit like that." He tells him, shoving more English toffee in his mouth.

Derek chuckles softly, maybe at his words or how stupid he looks when he eats. It could really go either way. He's just happy Derek has smiled at him, the rest is bonus awesomeness. Stiles knows it most likely won't last, but that's how it is with depression. You could have a fucking great day and then the next you can feel like you can't dress yourself. Stiles has had days like that before.

Derek helps him bring in the groceries but heads back to his room after, retreating. Stiles puts things away, "Don't worry! I'll make some awesome stuff and bring it up to you!"

Derek grunts in his general direction.

Stiles puts on music loud enough to hopefully reach Derek's room and dances around to it while he cooks. And sings horribly along with it.

"Poor Florence, I'm butchering her song." He says to himself in a pause during 'Dog Days Are Over'.

He packs food on plates and brings it up to Derek's room, bumping the door with his hip to open it more. Derek looks up from his book and Stiles grins, setting the plates on the bed. Derek looks down at the food apprehensively.

"Dude, come on. Don't look at it like that, it's good. Now, eat, before you shrivel up." Stiles plops down on the bed and while he may think that's a tad over the line in Derek's comfort level, he feels like it's a good thing to do. Test him and see what happens.

Derek just holds his plate and takes a cautious spoonful. Stiles grins at him until Derek rolls his eyes, "It's good. It's fine."

"You're welcome."

"...Thank you."

\--

Today is not a good day.

Stiles can sense it when he wakes up. So, immediately, he checks on Derek. He's curled up in bed, shaking, and Stiles does the first thing that comes into his mind.

He climbs onto the bed behind him and hugs him. Derek stiffens for a few moments, then turns, letting Stiles take him into his arms. Stiles holds him steady and lets him hide his face in his shoulder. Derek's arms wrap tight around his waist and Stiles runs his fingers through his hair soothingly.

"What's wrong?" He whispers, rocking them slowly back and forth. He doesn't get an answer. He worries his lip then says, "Bad thoughts?"

Derek shakes his head no and sniffles against his shirt.

"Nightmare?"

Derek nods.

"About them?"

Derek sobs and Stiles shushes him softly, whispering that he's sorry over and over again. He holds Derek until the shaking subsides, the sobs are just little hiccups here and there. He rubs his back and pulls away, seeing Derek scowl at himself.

"Hey, how about you take a well needed shower and I'll make you pancakes?" Stiles smiles softly, holding Derek at the shoulders.

"Is that an insult?" Derek croaks out, wiping his eyes.

"You bet your ass it is." Stiles grins, "I know you can make your own pancakes but I'll do it for you." Derek shakes his head and lets out a soft chuckle. Stiles rubs his arms then gets up, going for the door, "Shower, shave, get dressed and all that jazz."

Stiles throws on some sweatpants and his glasses and heads downstairs. He hears the shower turn on and smiles to himself.

Thirty minutes later Derek comes down, jeans and a black, new-looking t-shirt on with socked feet. Stiles rolls his eyes at how he looks and how he didn't shave. He sets down Derek's plate in front of him once he's seated at the table.

"Don't you own any comfy clothes? Like, lounging around stuff?" He asks as he sits next to Derek with his own plate.

Derek shrugs, "...All my clothes were picked out for me."

"Really?" Stiles looks him over again, sees him shift a bit uncomfortably. He's probably never even worn this stuff before, "God, man. You need sweatpants and sweaters and just regular lazy day stuff."

"Sweaters?"

Stiles gives an excited smile at the hint of interest in Derek's voice, "Yeah, sweaters. You know, like old ones you find at thrift shops. It's like a treasure hunt."

"Is it?"

"Yeah! It's great. I'm addicted." Stiles pushes his glasses more up the bridge of his nose, "We can go, if you want."

"Not today." Derek tells him in a quiet voice, looking back down to his food.

"Yeah, okay," Stiles says, understanding, "No problem. Jeep's on the fritz today, anyway."

"...There's keys in the entrance before the garage. Pick a set if you need to go anywhere."

"Oh, um. Thanks."

Derek goes silent and Stiles lets him. Derek returns to his room after and Stiles lets him be, gives him lunch when it's time. He looks around the house again, more in depth this time. There's a basement with a small cinema in it, and a pool out in the backyard, then miles of woods all around them. If Stiles stumbled in there, he'd get happily lost. He should take Derek on a hike.

When he heads back in the house, he checks on Derek to see he's asleep, curled up. Stiles pads in quietly and covers him with a blanket, catching himself rubbing his thumb against Derek's hand, coaxing the fist he'd made to relax. He sighs and pulls away, leaving him.

He finds himself walking down the hall aimlessly, looking at all the landscape paintings and photos framed on the walls. He counts the doors that line the halls, keeping track with the keys in his hand. He counts the last one and looks to the end of the hall, a door there as well. Stiles is sure he counted right. He goes up to open the door, since all the others were unlocked. But this one isn't. He jiggles the handle until remembers this isn't an old house and the doors don't stick like at home.

He looks through his keys, trying a few. He sighs when none of them work, then thinks of the one key with nothing on it. It looks perfect, unlike the others that have been thrown on tables and hung up and taken down and tossed around. This one looks like it's been taken care of. Stiles slides it into the lock and turns it, walking into the room.

It's lit by only the sunlight streaming in, curtains pulled back and looked to have not been moved in a long time. There's a blue velvet couch off to the side and sheet music strewn around, blankets in the corner. The walls are painted different than the rest of the house; instead of creamy white walls and frames of photos, the walls are bare and painted a beautiful deep blue, navarre embroidery work with darker blue - looking straight from 221B with love in a different splatter of color. In the center of the room, sits an elegant baby grand piano, stool tipped over on the floor. Everything's dusty, unmoved.

Stiles walks in slowly, taking in his surroundings. He goes to the stool and stands it upright, puts himself in front of the piano. He runs his fingers along the sleek black of it then carefully sits down, pulling up the fallboard to see the ivory keys. He sits on the bench and stretches his fingers out over them. He doesn't know how to play but pretends he does, pressing thoughtfully to a few keys, listening to them ring to life. He plays three keys in a line over again, smiling softly at it. It sounds nice. Nothing compared to what Derek could--

"What are you doing?"

Derek's voice makes Stiles jump, heart pounding. He looks up and Derek is in the doorway, face hard and unhappy. Stiles takes his hands away from the keys.

"I was just--"

"You're not supposed to be in here," Derek's hands ball into fists, anger flaring, "W-Why did you come in here? Why did you touch it?!"

"Derek, I--"

"Why the fuck would you come here?!" The boom of his voice echoes in the room and Stiles cringes, "Why did you even want this job?! Do you think you can make me better?! Who are you to say you can fix me?!"

"I-I never said--"

"Get out! I want you out, just get out, you fucking asshole!" Derek looks angry and broken, almost in tears. Stiles stands up.

He says it calmly, showing no sign of threat, "No."

"What?!" Derek starts to crowd his space, trying to intimidate him, but Stiles touches his chest, fingertips against the fabric of his brand new shirt.

"Calm yourself."

Derek is  _fuming_ , though. He breathes in Stiles' face and looks him in the eyes for the longest time, then he sighs and turns on his heel, leaving the room. Stiles hears the door to his bedroom slam moments later.

Stiles closes the fallboard again, lovely keys disappearing from view before he hides the room away again.

\--

Derek doesn't talk to him for three days. He doesn't look at Stiles, he doesn't walk next to Stiles, he doesn't stay in the same room as Stiles. At all. Even if Stiles is cleaning up his bedroom, he'll leave the room and shut himself in the study. Stiles thinks he should stop Derek from this, but it's more an emotional decision so he pushes it away.

He came here to do a job.

...But isn't his job to make Derek happy?

\--

Two days later, Stiles is reading in his room when Derek comes in.

"I want to get sweaters."

Stiles looks up at him with slightly wide eyes, because that's the first thing he's heard out of him in almost a week.

"You do?" He asks, marking his place and setting the book aside.

"Yes." Derek looks angry and pale, and Stiles is putting on his shoes before he fully realizes it.

A half hour later and Derek is stiffly looking around the thrift shop, with Stiles just as uncomfortable next to him. Stiles looks to him timidly, "So, you want sweaters..."

"Like you have it. The... Treasure hunt." Derek says like he's embarrassed.

Stiles hides a soft smile and holds out his hand to shake in truce. Derek holds his hand and doesn't let go. Stiles doesn't call him out on it and leads him around to look through racks. He doesn't know what size Derek is, but he can guess, so he lets go of Derek's hand to grab a few.

Derek's arm shoots out, hand grasping for Stiles' hand again. When Stiles looks, Derek seems panicked. "Hey, woah. You okay?"

"Don't go." Derek tells him, lacing their fingers together. Stiles feels him shake.

"Okay. It's okay." He promises, looking into Derek's eyes, wanting him to know that he's not going anywhere. He won't abandon him. He won't and it makes emotion cling to his rib cage like a heavy weight when he thinks about leaving.

Derek nods and stares down at their hands for a moment, then says, "I like this one." He grabs at the sleeve of one slung over Stiles' arm, a soft looking one with variations of blues in uneven stripes. Stiles doesn't say anything in return, just nods and lets Derek look at more.

Derek doesn't let go of his hand once, except to refuse Stiles paying for eight sweaters, four pairs of homemade mittens and a pair of old army boots in Derek's size. Stiles is about to argue that he has enough money, even if he kind of doesn't - he doesn't want to use the money the old keeper gave him, that's for important things - but Derek lays bills on the counter then gives Stiles a hundred dollars.

"What is this for?" He tries to shove the money back.

"You must have been desperate for money if you took a job looking after me." Is what Derek's reply is and it's partly true.

He'd quit his last job because the manager was a total fuckbag, grabbing his ass in the break room and harassing him until he flipped him over a table and told him he was quitting. Then things got tight with money, and he didn't want the heat and lights to be turned off in his and his father's house with Autumn coming to a close and it would be spitting snow any day. But knowing what he was going into, it was for the good paycheck, but also so Derek would have someone there with him. Stiles knows loneliness, and he does not wish it on anyone.

"I did it for two reasons." Stiles says and takes the bags, leaving Derek to hold the end of his jacket as they leave.

Back at the house, they wash everything because Derek says it all smells like old people. Then, after a little convincing and charming, Stiles gets Derek to help him with dinner.

He's a better piano player than he is a cook.

Sheppard's Pie that's in the wrong layer order and a little burnt, lumpy mashed potatoes from not enough boiling time. But Stiles eats it anyway because he very much enjoys the smile and little blush that brightens up Derek's face.

\--

Stiles video calls his father and they speak for an hour about Derek and how Stiles wants to help him, his father's day at work and how he actually got up the courage to ask Melissa on a dinner date. Stiles thinks it's good. Melissa is a good person, a nurse, his best friend's mom. She understands Stiles, and he knows she won't try to be his mother. He's happy for them.

His father rambles on to reassure him that he's eating healthy and that he can ask Melissa and Lydia  _and_  Scott, because they will back him up on this. Stiles just nods and smiles, tells him to take it easy at the Argent's annual 'hello winter' dinner, then they exchange I love yous.

Stiles closes his laptop and sees Derek in the doorway. He's wearing the combat boots, laces undone like he's just trying them on, with the rest of his night clothes on. Expensive-looking ones that seem to be custom made, a blue-green mix to match his eyes. Derek looks comfortable even if the shirt is a bit on the short side – or maybe it’s wearing the bottoms so dangerously low on his hips - making it so it comes up to show the expanse of his lower abdomen when he scratches at the back of his head - Stiles can tell he's gaining weight again, thank god. The comfort foods have got him back the padding he needs.

"It's snowing." Derek tells him, hand dropping. It's not supposed to snow for another week and Stiles gets up, looking out the window to... yep; the lovely little flakes are falling to the ground delicately, dancing in the wind as they go.

"I love snow. Do you?" He asks, turning to look at the man in the door way, who's inched his way in just past the frame.

"I used to... When I went on tour more east, the snow would fall for days at a time, snowmen on every block, piles and piles of it..." He looks to the old quilt Stiles brought with him on the bed, now to the side of it. Stiles wonders if he'll sit down. "I hope there's a white Christmas this year."

Stiles gives him a nod, not knowing what to say. Does Derek actually celebrate Christmas now that his family is gone? That it's only him? Stiles can't see him putting up a tree and decorating it all by himself, making hot chocolate with a candy cane stirrer.

"You do celebrate Christmas, don't you?" Derek asks.

"Yeah, of course. It's always a happy time of the year... For some."

Derek looks at his hands, "There's a tree in the shed out back, along with uh, decorations. If you wanted... It could be put up."

Derek wants Christmas.

Derek wants Christmas with Stiles.

"Awesome," He gives a big, genuine smile, "We can get it tomorrow. Christmas is a little ways away, but who cares about that? Not me."

"Not me, either." Derek says and he's smiling for real as well. Warmth blooms in Stiles' chest, and Derek doesn't want to look too excited, how embarrassing it would be if Stiles knew how fast his heart was beating.

\--

In the morning, Stiles gets out of bed leisurely, putting on some warmer clothes that makes up for leaving the comfort of his bed. He makes his way downstairs, pushing his hair back with a nice morning yawn.

He makes chocolate chip pancakes with banana and strawberry slices in a smiley face, drizzles a bit of syrup over it all. He makes one for himself as well then heads up to rouse Derek for the day.

He finds him sprawled out on the blankets, in only boxer-briefs, one leg out of the blankets and the other in. He looks so comfortable and content, Stiles feels the want to go back to bed himself, or curl up next to Derek and tell him to share. He leans down next to the bed and smiles, "Hey, Derek."

A soft grunt gets uttered in his direction and Derek turns his head a bit to get away from the light the door is letting in, adjusting his hips a little. Stiles feels a bit intrusive now, seeing the morning wood Derek is sporting, a thick line in the fabric of his underwear.

"Stiles." Derek mumbles, eyes still not open when Stiles jerks his head back up and away from looking at Derek's crotch.

"It's time to get up, man." And wow, what a word choice. But Derek fixes his head on the pillows and sighs, still asleep. Maybe he should let Derek sleep, let him have his dreams. As long as they're not nightmares, Stiles sees no reason to intrude. He can make Derek another batch of pancakes. He heads for the door, looking back only to please himself.

When he’s about to close the door, Derek starts to breathe more heavily, brow creasing and Stiles feels a pull of alarm in his chest. His name falls from Derek's lips again and Stiles goes back to the bed and sits, putting a hand to Derek's cheek, "Dude, wake up. Derek? Derek… Derek!"

Snapping awake, Derek's hands fly to Stiles and pin them to the bed, something like a moan coming out when he sits up fast, inches from Stiles' face. He pants softly, Stiles feels it against his lips.

"What are you doing?" He asks in a whisper, but Stiles falters for a moment.

"I-I was just coming to wake you up. I... I made breakfast. Uh, pancakes, again." He says, tripping over his words a bit.

Derek's hands loosen on his and he nods, taking a deep breath. "I'll be right there. Give me a minute, alright?"

Stiles goes and gives Derek his space. When he comes down, he doesn't look Stiles in the eye and has a pink tint to his cheeks for most of breakfast.

\--

"Come on! Come on, come on, come on!" Stiles is jumping up and down with excitement in front of Derek's bedroom door, hoping he'll be done faster.

Derek emerges, dawning a red knitted sweater and two pairs of sweatpants, ends tucked in to the tightly laced boots. It brings a grin to Stiles' lips at the sight of him. He grabs his hand and pulls him along, "You look great, man! It's great! How's it feel? Good?"

Derek stumbles a bit on the last stair, getting his composure back in time for Stiles to start shoving mittens on his hands, "Good, yeah. It's not itchy... I thought it'd be itchy."

"But it's not, I told you already. I wouldn't put you in something itchy." He smiles, getting the other mitten on Derek before putting on his own, "Ready?"

Derek gives a nod and Stiles grabs his wrist - the one he never broke - and pulls him to the door. He has a little trouble opening it, mitten sliding around, not being able to get a good grip on it. Derek rolls his eyes and takes off a mitten, pushing Stiles' hand away and opening the door.

"Oh, thanks, man." Stiles grins like a child and puts his mitten back on before leading him outside.

Snow has gathered everywhere, lumps and hills all over the ground, blanketing for as far as they can see. Trees and the house and still falling from the sky, untouched by anyone or anything. Derek's staring at it like he doesn't know what to do and a small smile spreads out over Stiles' lips.

He bumps Derek's hand with his own, "Perfect, isn't it?"

Derek nods, looking to him, "Amazing."

He smiles when Derek's hand closes around his and he knows it's his cue to step off the stoop and hear the crunch of the snow molding to the underside of his boots. Derek follows and Stiles has all these ideas about them making snow people, snowball fights and forts and angels but he finds himself unable to let go of Derek's hand, enjoying the comfortable silence between them too much to dare break it.

They end up walking, snowflakes falling on and all around them, catching in their hair and tinting their cheeks as they go. Stiles often looks up to the trees above, feeling Derek's hand pull him back when he starts to stray within bumping distance of any trees. But somehow, it ends up being Derek's hand not in his, but around his middle, holding him close.

The tip of Derek's nose is red from the cold but he's not complaining, looking more relaxed than when he's asleep. Stiles feels a rumble in his chest but tries not to acknowledge it... Too much.

When they've gone around the woods in bunches of circles that Derek knows like the back of his hand, they go back to the house, intending to get warm and make some dinner.

But then Stiles slips.

And he goes down, yelping in surprise.

And dragging Derek with him.

They hit the ground with a thud, snow swirling up around them, fluttering back down and onto them. Stiles groans and shivers about how it's getting onto his neck, knowing he should have worn a scarf, when he feels Derek shivering.

When he looks over he realizes that no, he's not actually shivering; he's got the biggest smile and he's  _laughing._  It knocks a huff of laughter out of Stiles and Derek turns his head to look at him, smile brightening and laughs becoming very audible.

It makes Stiles stomach hurt how much he starts laughing. Derek's curling into his side and shaking with the force of his own, holding Stiles close by the arm that's pillowing Stiles' head. And then Derek's snorts and Stiles starts wheezing so much he needs to grabs his inhaler from his pocket, but his mitten catches snow and sends said snow flying into Derek's face when he brings his hand up to use it.

Stiles is taken by surprise when snow lands icy cold on his face with a thump and a sputter of laughter from Derek at the face he makes.

"Oh no you did  _not_!" Stiles grins and springs up from laying, turning and getting on his knees to grab and make a quick snowball, chuck it to splatter in the center of Derek's sweater.

Derek's all smiles as he gets up and does the same, hitting Stiles in the temple. He yelps and wipes it away, jumping up to run ten feet away, hastily starting to make a fort out of an already good-sized bank of snow. Derek realizes what he's doing and trips over to another to make his own.

A snowball fight erupts across the walkway of the Hale house. Crappy looking snowballs and big misses due to laughing, Stiles falling over half his fort and having to redo it, but knowing it was worth it because Derek's shouting, snow down his shirt and "It's so fucking cold, Stiles! Damn you, you're gonna pay for that!"

Halfway through it, they're coughing from cold throats and their fingers are frozen, and Stiles realizes they've been throwing the duds so it looks like there's an unfinished bottom to what will become an awesome snowman. He waves a mitten in the air, "I surrender! Truce, truce!"

Derek's last snowball lands right in his hair but he only chuckles and shakes his head. Derek walks over, first and probably very likely second pair of sweatpants soaked from the knees, down.

"What is it?" He asks, breath ghosting out between them, mingling with Stiles'. His hand comes out, brushing over Stiles' hair, shaking more snow out fondly, like a silent apology.

"I was just thinking we could make a snowman, or at least start one before we freeze ourselves until we can't move anymore."

And Derek smiles again and really, that's all Stiles wants to see.

\--

There's a half done snowman on the front yard when they head inside, shaking and giggling to themselves. They turn up the heat and shake themselves of the snow they can there at the door, take off their boots and mittens. Derek sheds his sweater, gray t-shirt under it soaked all down the middle from Stiles' snowballs. Stiles takes off his jacket and hangs it up.

They head up to their rooms and disrobe, Stiles curling up in a blanket that was left laying by the heater. He takes a few more puffs from his inhaler and goes out into the hall to grab a towel from the linen closet. Back in his room he dries off his hair and tries to soothe his freezing cheeks. He can hear the shower in Derek's bathroom start and chuckles softly. Derek had a good time with him today. He got him to laugh and play and be carefree. He looked completely stunning.

Stiles gets dressed in some warm, dry clothes and heads down the stairs, putting the kettle on to make some famous Stilinski hot chocolate. Derek is sure to love it. He makes two cups, just the way he learned from his mom, and turns just in time to see Derek coming down the stairs. Sweatpants and a sweater never looked so good.

"Hey, man." He smiles, putting a mug of cocoa into Derek's hand as soon as he's close enough.

"No, not now, Stiles. I'm tired." Derek says softly, and it does sound tired.

But Stiles is persistent, "Just try it."

Derek sighs and takes a sip, and by the look on his face Stiles can tell he likes it. Derek stares at the cup, "Okay, this is good." Then he turns and heads to go back to his room, but there's Stiles again, leading him over to the couch.

They sit and Stiles pulls the blanket over them, then sips from his own mug. Derek, for the first time since Stiles has been here, turns on the television, something about cupcakes popping up. Stiles gets himself comfortable next to Derek.

"We could make cupcakes, you know." He tells Derek, "It'd be awesome. We could make a whole bunch and then frost them and give some out."

Derek looks up at him, traces with outlines of his face with his eyes. Stiles wants to know what he's thinking. And that's what Stiles finds out when Derek leans up, attaching his mouth to his in a quick kiss.

Stiles is a bit too shocked to push forward into it, or to, you know, breathe. Derek mingles there for a second or two before he pulls away, slumping back against Stiles' side, attention back on the cupcake show for all Stiles knows.

It's not true, Derek's thinking about how lovely Stiles is, but Stiles doesn't know that.

Derek ends up falling asleep right there against Stiles' side, comfortable and content. Stiles drifts off a few times but gently shakes Derek's shoulder, "Come on, Derek. Time for bed."

"Here." Derek argues groggily, nuzzling Stiles' shoulder.

"No, no. Bed." Stiles helps him up, keeping the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He leads Derek up to his room and tucks him in, watching the guy fall right back into sleep without a problem. Stiles goes and crashes in his own room.

\--

Stiles wakes in the middle of the night to a bang from downstairs. He checks his clock, little green numbers informing him it's 3:07 in the morning. There's another small clatter and he's up, putting on his glasses and grabbing his baseball bat. He heard Derek liked baseball and he thought in the beginning, if Derek even talked to him, that maybe they could play. But now it's to take out whoever broke into Derek's house.

He goes downstairs as quietly as he can manage, which is pretty damn quiet if he does say so himself - when he turned eighteen and wanted to help people, his father decided to put him through some of the police training. Fighting, running, he already knew all the code words for everything by the time he was fifteen, and he didn't want to do the pepper spray training on Stiles. So Stiles did it anyway, with his best friend Scott. It burned like a motherfucker, and it was worse than being tazed by Allison.

Someone starts going through the cupboards and Stiles flips on the kitchen light, bat raised and--

" _Why do you have a bat?_ " Derek asks in surprised aggression confusion, jar of peanut butter in hand and getting the marshmallow fluff Stiles bought that he's been secretly wanting ever since it was put in the house with the other. He's kind of already had it; part of the secret to the Stilinski hot cocoa.

"I... I thought someone broke in," He lowers his bat, "You never wake up at this time of night."

"You were going to go after someone, who could have a knife, or a gun... With a baseball bat?" Derek looks at him like he's an idiot.

"To protect you, yes." He says without thinking.

Derek's features soften, setting his things down, "...Really?"

"Well, yeah. Of course. You don't think I would?"

"No, no... I just didn't realize you would."

Stiles gives a fond smile, "You have to realize people care.  _I_  care."

Derek nods softly. His lips quirk up, "And do you think you could have taken me down?"

Stiles smirks, "Oh yeah, definitely."

He gives a smirk to match, "Oh?" He walks closer, "And if I were to... Disarm you?" He gently takes the bat from Stiles' hand and lays it on the kitchen table. He's stepping closer, less than a foot from him.

"I'd use my fist." He tells him, not stepping back, looking over his lips.

"Really? Not sure if I'd be into that or not. I'm willing to try." And then Stiles is blushing because he totally did not mean it that way, but now he's in the sex place and he can't get out.

"I-I'd um... I would..." He bites his lip, not knowing what to say. He fiddles with his hands at his sides.

Derek's hand comes up and gently pulls his lip free from the assault of his teeth. He leans closer, voice soft, "You'd what?"

His mouth hangs open slightly, mind grappling for an idea, a sentence, a word,  _anything_. He sets his hands on Derek's chest, "I'd push you, try to get an advantage."

Derek's breath ghosts over his lips, "And I'd hold you down by any means necessary."

"Any means?"

"Any at all."

And then Stiles is being kissed again, carefully backed up against the wall two feet away. Derek's lips are a little chapped from the cold and Stiles wants so badly to soothe them with his tongue. If he gets the chance, he most definitely will. His hands slide to the waistband of Derek's pajama bottoms and his fingers dip in, giving him something to hold onto otherwise his hands would be all over the place.

Their lips slide together easily, Stiles tipping his head one way to kiss back, pushing into it to make up for the time he didn't have before and Derek's hands are set on his face like his something precious, something delicate. Derek kisses him like he wants to stay calm, but there's desperation just under that, a want to kiss him with all he has. Stiles opens his mouth and touches his tongue to Derek's lower lip.

And Derek freezes for all of two seconds before he's hauling Stiles closer by an arm around his waist, sending them stumbling back into the counter. Derek pushes him up onto it and Stiles opens his legs for him to be closer, tongues sliding together, a shaky noise falling from Derek's lips.

Stiles peeks his eyes open, just to see the beautiful sight of Derek's lashes fanned out over his cheeks, bed head hair and hands gently caressing Stiles' side and side of his neck. Stiles feels like his heart could explode.

He sees himself in the reflection of the window, of both of them. His legs wanting to wrap around Derek's hips, pull him closer until they touch all over. The line of Derek's shoulders in his hot little night shirt. His shoulders should be illegal. But then he sees himself and how this may be taking advantage of his job. He's the first one in a long time to make Derek feel better, he knows. He's read the reports of the others. Derek never did this with them. And now he's latching on to Stiles not because of Stiles, but because of the way Stiles makes him feel. And that, in Stiles' book, is wrong.

He pulls away softly, putting his hands back on Derek's chest when he tries to lean in again, "Shh, shh. Calm down." Derek looks like he doesn't even know how to speak anymore, but manages a nod, eyes fluttering open to look at him. Stiles kisses his forehead, "Make your sandwich, okay? Then get back to bed."

Derek tries to kiss him again and catches the corner of his mouth. The way he lingers there for a few moments makes Stiles' chest hurt, because he knows Derek's starved for touch. And Stiles wants to fix that. With himself.

But that's not professional. And it may fuck Derek up more than he already is.

\--

Stiles finds Derek looking at the door to his piano room. It's a surprise, one that makes breakfast curdle in Stiles' stomach. He's scared of what Derek might do.

He touches the wood of the door gingerly, like it could hurt him. He runs his fingertips over it, down the simple pattern, to the door handle that doesn't jiggle like the ones at Stiles' home do. This one is strong, like Derek's love for everything used to be. He was happy.  _He used to be happy_. And it breaks Stiles' heart to see him right now, he wishes he could wave a magic wand and make it all come back, rewrite it all even if that means he never got to meet Derek, or learn about him, or hold him, or kiss him.

"Stiles," Derek says softly, "Would you unlock the door for me... Please?"

Stiles hesitates, but pulls the keys from his pocket. He steps around Derek and slides the key into the lock, turning it and opening the door softly. Derek reaches out to hold the door handle again and Stiles catches his hand, holding it.

"Are you sure about this?" Stiles asks softly, "Are you ready?"

Derek doesn't look confident but he nods, slipping his fingers in between Stiles'. He walks in and breathes in deep at the dust covering the room, over his piano. Stiles can tell he hates it. Derek's free hand touches to his piano, wipes the dust off some of it.

"Sit down." Stiles suggests carefully, keeping his voice down. Derek's hand reluctantly leaves his as he sits at the bench.

He opens the fallboard and skims his shaky fingers over the keys, muscles in his back tightening. Stiles sets his hands on his shoulders and it makes Derek start just slightly, but settle down when the heat of Stiles' hands gets into his skin.

Derek looks so nervous, going to rub his right hand as if it was sore. Stiles rubs his shoulders, "You can do this... Just go ahead."

Derek sets his fingers back against the keys. He takes a deep breath to settle his nerves and goes to play something - he doesn't even know himself - when he's startled. His fingers hit the keys, making a sour sound, doorbell continuing to ring downstairs. He makes an angry noise and gets up, slamming the fallboard back down.

"Goddamn it!" He storms from the room, leaving Stiles with his heart pounding. Stiles skitters out after him, down the stairs to where Derek is throwing open the door, a woman with a briefcase looking calm with Derek right there, "What do you want?!"

"We had an appointment, Derek," She walks in past him, "Have you been doing your breathing exercises?"

"Yes, I've been doing my fucking breathing exercises." Derek slams the door shut, following her into the living room. Stiles stands and doesn't move, because he has no idea what to do.

The woman sees him and smiles, holds her hand out to shake, "Hello, I'm Dr. Morell. Derek and I have a session today."

Stiles shakes her hand then looks to Derek, who really looks like he wants to be anywhere but here. Part of Stiles wants to tear him from the room and smother him in affection, get him to forget whatever thoughts he's thinking. The other part knows he can't. He gives Derek a little nod then goes off into the kitchen, making tea.

Derek looks even more antsy when he comes back out. He sets down the tray on the coffee table, pouring Dr. Morell a cup, smiling politely when she says thank you. He pours a cup for Derek and pulls aside his napkin to show a small pile of graham crackers. He's noticed Derek has a secret sweet tooth and indulges him from time to time... Times like this when it's a little thing that could turn his mood around. Derek smiles gratefully.

Dr. Morell looks between them and then when Stiles goes to leave them alone, she says, "I saw the snowman outside."

Derek nods, "Stiles and I made it."

"And the um... Snow forts?"

"One is mine and one is Stiles'."

She smiles, gesturing, "And this is Stiles?"

"Oh, yeah. Stiles Stilinski, hi." Stiles says sheepishly, forgetting he hadn't said anything in return to her, too wrapped up in making sure Derek was okay.

Derek munches on his graham cracker, "He stays here now."

"Ah, yes. They told me you were getting another caretaker." Dr. Morell nods, "So, it seems to be going well. Nothing seems broken and the house is full of light. Are you still staying in your room or the study?"

"Sometimes." Derek answers.

"What about your family's rooms?"

"Not lately."

"Hm. And your... special room?"

Derek stiffens. Stiles knows she means his piano room. Derek rubs the crumbs from his hand on his jeans, "It's dusty... I hate it."

Dr. Morell nods, "Maybe have someone clean it? Re-hire your decorator?"

"No. The house looks... I want a big, comfy chair in my room," Derek says, "Evidently they're really nice." He glances toward Stiles, smiling at his smile.

"It sounds like you're doing much better." She smiles as well, and this is probably one of the few times Derek has shown improvement, if her expression is anything to go by.

Derek doesn't say anything in return, just gives a soft smile into his teacup.

\--

_Two days before Christmas_

Stiles is in complete chaos. Sending out gifts, writing out cards, forcing Derek to write a letter to Santa with him and then make a big show of it at the post office to make the kids smile and get excited for Christmas. Baking cookies, talking non-stop to Scott that no, he won't be home for Christmas and he's sorry he'll miss the eggnog, but make sure Dad isn't moping about and shove all my presents in his face to make it seem like I'm there.

Derek just listens in; waiting until Stiles hangs up and takes the other tray of cookies out of the oven. "You can go home for Christmas, Stiles." He says while frosting another Christmas tree shaped cookie.

Stiles smiles at him fondly and puts in the fifth tray of the day into the oven, little Santas and mistletoe this time. He was very adamant that they have little Santa, mistletoe, trees, present, snowmen and women, angels, bells and snowflake cookies. He would have nothing less than "the perfection of variety balance, Derek! It's like chi for your cookies."

"But I have you to spend it with." Is the perfect answer Stiles gives, the one that makes Derek's stomach twist with delight. He grabs the red frosting and starts in on a present, circling the little bow indent on it with careful precision.

Derek doesn't even try to hide his smile, "But still, your Dad's alone. Family is important."

"I know it is. But he's going to be spending it with Scott and Melissa, and Isaac will be over there, of course. And Danny will probably visit with Jackson, so will Lydia and Erica. I bet Boyd will send cards and Skype for a bit because he's at the ski resort with his entire family. My Dad will definitely not be alone for Christmas." Stiles tells him, taking some icing onto his finger and eating it.

"It's a full house during holidays with you, isn't it?" Derek asks, voice caught somewhere between sadness that his family is gone and happy that Stiles has many people who love him.

"It is... Maybe you could come sometime. It'd be nice." Stiles peeks up at him while he grabs a snowflake to frost. Stiles wouldn't let those be the same, always cutting or adding a little piece because he liked the accuracy. Derek thinks it's fucking  _adorable_.

The words make it to him and he frosts the table on accident.

"You'd want me to come spend a holiday with you and your family?"

Stiles chuckles softly, "Yeah. It'd be awesome," Derek beams at him, "Maybe Halloween. I'll be Little Red who's actually really badass, you can be The Wolf."

Derek gives him a soft, genuine smile, "That would be... Really great, Stiles. I'd love to."

\--

The rest of the day is spent wrapping up cookies and "no, these ones are tea cookies, they need to be put separately. Why? Because Allison loves her tea cookies and Dad needs to eat healthier. And if Scott ate one on accident he'd probably chuck the rest of it at my head."

Derek helps him cook dinner while they both steal cookies from the bin, but eventually settle down, plates heaped with Italian chicken and rice, and experimental garlic bread made from seasoning and regular bread because Derek had a craving.

They watch a few films and then Stiles is yawning, energy finally dwindling. Then it's Derek taking their finished plates - Derek's a beast now, eating hearty meals and working out sometimes three times a day. ' _Their finished plates'_  is a big deal to Stiles - and kissing Stiles' forehead, telling him to go to bed.

Stiles has been coming to terms that he really likes Derek, kisses when Derek initiates, but he still doesn't give in to the wants of crawling into bed to hold him when he can't sleep.

Stiles makes the - not mistake, because he very much enjoys kissing the man in front of him, but maybe it's a habit that he does it now, the extracurricular activity of looking at Derek's mouth. Because Derek notices, and yes, Stiles wants, and he knows he does. So he's leaning in and pressing his mouth to Stiles', nice and slow, savoring the touch, the feel of it. Stiles does too, tilting his head up to lean up into it, kiss back with all he has.

The dishes clatter onto the coffee table and Derek is moving Stiles to lean back against the couch, hands sliding to his thighs. A moan gets caught in Stiles' throat and Derek's tongue slips past his lips.

Stiles' hands thread into his hair.

Derek slides into his lap.

This is what Stiles has been waiting for anxiously. Derek's gotten his sexual desire back, masturbating in the shower, in bed in the morning when he thinks Stiles can't hear him a room over. And  _he can_. Oh, he can. Derek's so loud. It's been driving Stiles up the wall, out of his mind and under his own covers.

Derek starts moaning and panting, and Stiles hasn't even realized one hand is gripping to his ass, pulling him to grind against him. He pulls away and Derek comes down from the high of the touches, looking at him with round, dilated eyes.

"S-Stiles..." he bites his lip, swollen from their kiss. Stiles wants to devour them, pull him back in for a rough, wet kiss that'll have them pulling at each other's clothes.

"Yeah?" He loosens his hold just so on Derek's body, not wanting to tempt himself to pull him close.

"You look... Very tired." Derek pulls himself up, dick straining in his jeans, a bulge tenting the front. Stiles audibly swallows. Derek backs up, giving Stiles room, "Sleep well."

Stiles staggers off to bed, more awake and hand shoved down the front of his sweatpants while he can hear Derek practically crying out at every touch he gives himself. Stiles comes like he's sixteen again, and by the sound of it, Derek does, too.

\--

Derek walks down the stairs after his morning shower, seeing Stiles buzzing around, running out the door and coming back in, grabbing from the dwindling pile of things before running back out again.

"What are you doing?" He asks when Stiles comes back, startling him.

"Oh! Hey, I was just... Doing a thing." Stiles' nose is red from the cold, the ends of his jeans wet from walking through the snow. He smiles and Derek looks at him oddly.

"...Are you leaving?"

Stiles jumps at the sad tone to his voice, "No! Well, yes. But I wanted to take you with me. I-I didn't know you'd be up so early, I wanted to get this stuff packed before and then surprise you."

"Where were we going to go?"

" _I wanted to surprise you_."

"Oh. Right um... Should I pack a bag?"

"I already did it for you."

"You packed things for me?"

Stiles shrugs, "The surprise aspect."

Derek rolls his eyes and gets on some shoes, shrugging on his jacket. Stiles smiles softly and takes the last few things out to the Jeep. He sees Derek shivering down the driveway and he pulls out a blanket from the back, following Derek around to the passenger side, setting it over him after he buckles up. Derek looks grateful and smiles, cuddling into it.

In a matter of minutes, they're off, Derek watching the windows as the snowy world goes by. Stiles turns on the heat and glances at Derek to make sure he's okay.

After hearing Derek's stomach growling for ten minutes, Stiles stops at the first place he sees, rolling down the window. He looks to Derek, "What do you want?"

"Nothing." Derek tells him, snuggling more into the blanket.

Stiles orders two hot chocolates and whatever fresh baked goods they have, pays, and shoves most of it at Derek when they pass it through the window to him. They get back on the road and Derek looks grumpy at him for all of two seconds before he smells blueberries and finds the pastry in one of the bags.

Stiles burns his tongue on his hot chocolate and sets it down with a groan, fingers freezing. He stretches them and puts a hand between his thighs, trying to warm them up.

Derek looks at him, cheeks full, "What are you doing?"

"I'm cold." He pouts. Derek puts away his pastry and swallows what he has in his mouth, making sure his fingers are clean before he takes the blanket off himself, going to put it on Stiles. Stiles pushes it away, "No, that's for you. I packed it for you."

Derek stares for a few moments before he unbuckles and scoots over, right up to Stiles' side while a leg goes up on the seat, other a little awkwardly hanging in the correct place for the passenger's feet to be. He drapes the blanket over both of them and sighs, leaning his head back on the seat, cheek to Stiles' arm.

Stiles doesn't realize he's smiling until he sees his own reflection in his phone when he goes to check the time.

\--

Derek has been asleep for the last five miles, drifting in and out,  _cuddling_  into Stiles. Stiles can see the familiar signs of home, all covered in a blanket of snow. His old high school, Deaton's animal clinic - well, now it's Deaton & McCall, since Scott's official now - and finally,  _finally_  Scott's. Everyone's staying there for Christmas, so there's no reason to go home. Scott and Melissa's place is like a second home, anyway.

They park in the driveway and he shakes Derek's shoulder lightly, "Derek, we're here."

"Where?" Derek rubs his eyes, speaking groggily. He sits up and looks, staring up at the little blue house and the Christmas tree in the window.

"Surprise."

"You... You brought me to your family for Christmas?"

Stiles is about to tell him that it's all okay, that they know they were coming when Scott comes out, looking like an overexcited puppy, jumping and running over to the Jeep. Stiles gets out and grins, enveloping Scott in a hug, barking out a laugh when his best friend picks him up and twirls him around like the bro-tastic love couple they are. When he's set down, he looks to Derek, who's gotten out of the car but is standing by the headlights, looking truthfully terrified.

"Hey, you must be Derek, right?" Scott smiles, going up to him without hesitation and wrapping him in a hug, "I'm Scott, Stiles has told me a lot about you. Says you have a wicked right arm, perfect for snowball fights."

Derek stumbles back just a bit when Scott glomps him, then pats his back slowly, looking to Stiles for help. Stiles comes over and smiles, pulling Scott gently by the shoulder to pry him away.

"Wanna help me with the bags, man?" He asks and Scott grins, reaching to move the earholds of his glasses, making them go up and down.

"Of course, buddy. God, I missed you." He kisses Stiles' frozen nose then runs to the back of the Jeep and opens it up, grabbing as much as he can carry.

Stiles smiles at Derek softly, touching his arm, "You okay?"

"No." Derek says, giving a small smile. Stiles can tell he's freaking out a bit but doesn't want it to be acknowledged, so Stiles leaves it alone.

"Okay... If you feel like you need to go, you tell me." When Derek nods he smiles, going to help Scott. Derek takes most of them from Stiles' hands and lets them lead him inside, where another influx of people greets them.

Isaac is smashing into Stiles before he fully realizes it, knocking him back against the door, "Stiles!"

He's obviously been taking his medicine and getting a lot of Scott kisses. Plenty of mistletoe is scattered around the house from what he can see. Stiles drops the bags and hugs him tight, feeling those ridiculously adorable curls rub against his cheek, "Hey, you been eating all the sugar you can find?"

Isaac chuckles and pulls away, rights his glasses for him, "Yeah, sorta. I've been helping Melissa make sugar cookies... And brownies, and we're gonna make red velvet cake."

"Sugar coma by midnight it is." Stiles smiles, ruffling his hair. Isaac takes a few of the bags and starts hauling it upstairs, Scott following with the rest.

"Okay, the last of the cookies are almost done and the first tray of brownies," Melissa walks out of the kitchen, taking off her apron, fixing the curls that have come out of her ponytail, "then we can start the--Oh, they're here! John, they're here!"

She opens her arms and meets Stiles halfway, hugging him with all the safety and security he remembers. He sees his father come from the doorway and pulls away, taking him in for a tight hug, "Hey, Dad."

"We were so glad when you said you were coming," He tells him, and Stiles can just tell he's smiling, "We missed you."

"Missed you, too." He pulls away and pats his shoulder, looking him over. He looks healthy, and if he's to bet, Melissa hasn't let him have any sweets more than hot chocolate. He turns to see Melissa talking to Derek, hugging him, pulling sweet smiles from him.

"So, that's him." His father says in a low voice.

Stiles nods, "Yeah. Derek Hale. He's really happy to be here, I know it."

"He looks like he's about to blow a gasket."

"He's nervous. People aren't really his thing."

Melissa scurries off into the kitchen, but not before calling Isaac down to help her again, telling him and Scott to stop sucking face long enough to get things ready. Derek shifts uncomfortably, still holding the bag of cookies in his hands, like it's the only thing that'll keep him here.

Stiles goes and touches his hand, "You alright?"

"Um... Yeah, yeah. I'm okay. Melissa is getting me some water, she thinks I'm having a panic attack."

"That's because you kind of are. Breathe deep for me, okay? One, in. Two, out." Stiles breathes with him, smiling softly, "There you go."

"I got it." Derek nods, looking over at Stiles' father with new-found nervousness, "Uh... Sheriff."

"I'm off duty, Derek. How are you?" He shakes Derek's hand.

"I'm good... I didn't know Stiles was your son."

John nods, "He's definitely mine. Been missing him since he took the job."

Derek looks at the floor, "I'm sorry."

"No, no! I uh, I'm glad he's been doing things," He tries to amend, looking to Stiles for help, "I'm glad he's been with you."

Derek nods but doesn't look up again. Stiles rubs his back. Isaac comes down from the stairs and looks at the scene, going up to Derek calmly, "Hey, Derek... Will you help me and Melissa?"

Derek looks up nervously, "With what?"

"The cake," He smiles, "Is that Stiles' cookie bag? Awesome, you guys made cookies! Did he make you follow all the specific rules?"

He starts to take Derek into the kitchen. Derek chuckles softly, "Yeah. What's with the variety thing?"

"Oh, god. Let me tell you all about it."

\--

Derek settles in fairly well. It makes Stiles feel good to see him periodically when Isaac or Melissa needs something from the side of the kitchen he can see from his spot on the couch. He chuckles at Derek in his apron, gets flipped the middle finger a few times but only winks, falling over in laughter at Derek's blush. Lydia and Erica stop by, say hello and exchange presents. Lydia kisses Stiles' cheek and congrats him on finding a hottie like Derek. He blushes and says they're just friends. She doesn't believe him.

After they're gone Scott catches him up on all he's missed.

"Dude, but really... You and Derek. He looks at you sometimes and--"

"Yes, he looks at me. That's what most people do since I'm really funny looking."

"Stiles, I'm serious. Are you guys... Like, together now?"

"No! I-I mean no. We're not a couple, Scott. We're friends, I take care of him."

"Right, dude."

Derek peeks his head in, "The food's done."

"Aw yeah, food!" Stiles jumps up to get away from Scott, ready to get away from the conversation.

They pile up on pasta and Stiles avoids Scott's stare when he sits close to Derek. He watches Derek smile as Isaac talks animatedly about the trip him and Scott are going to take to go whitewater rafting in June. Stiles says he's excited for them and then stuffs his face so he doesn't have to talk. Derek looks around thoughtfully at everyone.

People start disappearing off to bed after dessert. Melissa starts to doze off first and the Sheriff leads her up the stairs to tuck her in. Scott and Isaac go up soon after, sharing kisses. Stiles follows them up to grab his pajamas, just wanting to change into them to be more comfortable. Scott is pulling up his laptop, cuddling up with a very frisky Isaac giving bites to his neck - Stiles is happy to see him still going strong.

"Use protection." Stiles smirks and Scott flings a dirty sock his way. Which is easily deflected, Stiles is proud to say, because Scott's socks are pretty rank, like supernatural level.

He heads into the bathroom and changes, going back in to Scott's room to shove his clothes back in his bag on the blow-up mattress they've put up for him and Derek. Stiles was initially worried, since Derek's used to the most expensive beds and highest thread count, but Stiles just learns more when Derek tells him before he started playing, they weren't at all wealthy. The first thing Derek got after his first big check, he bought his grandmother a new armchair and everyone good health insurance, which is why he's loaded now.

He piles them back in, zipping it up and setting it back down by the end of the mattress. Something gets thrown at him and he looks down at his feet to see a condom packet. He glares up at Scott as he lifts it from the ground, "Dude, really?"

"For you and Derek." His best friend gives a shit-eating grin while Isaac giggles next to him. Stiles does  _not_  blush.

"We're not a couple."

"Yes, you are."

"Scott, shut up."

"Are you sure you don't need any more? Three, four?"

"Don't you two need them? You fuck like rabbits."

Scott sticks his tongue out at him like they're eleven again and Isaac pulls him by the back of his neck into a kiss. Stiles rolls his eyes and leaves the room, then groans when he realizes he took the condom with him. He looks around for a place to put it, but if Melissa found it... Well, it wouldn't be the best thing.

He ends up just shoving it in his pocket and stumbling down the stairs. Derek's not where he left him, and he's not in the kitchen. He probably wouldn't be, anyway. But Stiles notices the pair of vintage boots that are gone from the pile. Stiles is pulling on his own boots and grabbing his jacket, heading outside to see a figure at the end of the driveway, hunched over.

"Derek!" He jogs over to him, skidding a bit on a patch of ice but recovering, setting a tender hand on Derek's back, "Hey. You okay? What's wrong?"

Derek's shaking, breathing out hard puffs of air. He grabs and clings to Stiles' arm, but Stiles pulls him in against his chest. Derek is hyperventilating, and Stiles feels sick to his stomach. Derek's having a full panic attack, “I-I thought I could do it. I really did. Stiles, I thought I could do this.”

“Shh, Derek. It’s fine. Just breathe, deep in, deep out. You’re going to be just fine.” Stiles tells him with a soft voice, rubbing his back, “Why’d you come outside? You’re going to freeze; you’re not even wearing your jacket.”

“They’re just all in there! They-They’re a family. I’m out of place. I’m always,  _always_  out of place. I’m not worth anything, and they… they take me in like I matter.” Derek stutters out.

“You do matter, Derek. You matter a lot,” Stiles pulls his head up, makes him look him in the eyes, “Do you feel uncomfortable? You didn’t need to come out here, it’s okay. We can drive somewhere. We can—“

“Why do you care? Why did you bring me here, Stiles?” Derek looks cold and close to tears. He looks lost.

“I brought you here to be with a family for Christmas. Because you matter, you have a place here.” Derek’s eyes flick to his chest, where he hasn’t realized he’s been patting. He swallows hard, “You have a place here, with me. I care for you. Don’t you realize that?  _I brought you home for Christmas._ ”

Derek lays his head on his shoulder, “Why are you so nice to me?”

“Because I care, dumbass.”

Derek huffs out a hoarse laugh and Stiles lets go of him, shrugging off his jacket to put over Derek’s shoulders. He pulls it around, looking in Derek’s eyes. “It was too hot in there… Claustrophobic. I couldn’t breathe.”

“You had a panic attack. You’re still shaking a little. You should have said something, we could have done something, gone somewhere for a little bit. God, how long were you like this? How long did you sit there and just take it?” Stiles has the urge to hold his face, stroke his cheeks to calm him.

“About an hour, maybe. I saw Scott and Isaac… They just looked really happy. A-And I don’t expect a kiss from you. I’m sorry I did it. It… It was a mistake, I shouldn’t have pushed myself on you. You should have pushed me away, you should have left,” Derek’s pushing away from him now, tears welling up in his eyes. “Why didn’t you push me away? I was taking advantage of you. It was one of the best days and I couldn’t help myself, b-but you didn’t say anything, you didn’t get disgusted with me. You stayed when everyone else left. Not that I kissed them! God, I never did. I never talked to them.”

“I was just the nearest person when you were on a good streak.” Stiles admits, even though he never wanted to say it out loud.

Derek looks at their shoes for the longest time, shaking his head softly. When his voice sounds, it’s only a whisper, “When you woke me up from that nightmare, all I wanted to do was stay there with you. I wanted you to lay with me and hold my hand.”

Stiles stares up at him, mouth slack, “…That’s all you wanted?”

Derek nods, “And then you said you would make me pancakes. You made me feel so normal. Everyone else treated me like a disease. I wasn’t a person anymore, just an overflowing handful of fucking symptoms. No one made me pancakes.”

“I will make you pancakes every single day if you want them.” Stiles promises, letting himself indulge in touching Derek’s chilled skin. And Derek smiles at him, like that just fixes everything. Stiles leans up and touches their lips together, giving Derek the time to back out if he wants.

But Derek presses into it, because it’s what he wants, it’s what he thought Stiles didn’t want. He thought he was taking advantage of Stiles, when Stiles thought the exact opposite. Derek holds the front of his nightshirt and parts his lips for Stiles’ tongue, soothing his lips, warming him up again. Stiles tries to move closer but trips on his undone shoelace – over his own feet, nice job Stilinski – and Derek’s arms close around his middle, keeping him upright.

“You’re so clumsy.” Derek mumbles against his mouth, nipping the slant of his bottom lip. Derek’s hands feel like a brand against his lower back and it just makes Stiles laugh and push up to kiss him in full again.

They stumble back, ending up slamming Stiles’ back first into the Jeep. Derek’s hands have slipped under his shirt, cold fingertips and colder air caressing along Stiles’ skin. Stiles has his hands buried in Derek’s hair, gasping into the kisses, arching at the touches even though it’s not much. It’s cold and it’s making Stiles’ nerves go haywire.

Derek’s hands slip to his hips, gripping. There’s a crinkle and Derek stops, pulling out of the kiss delicately to dip his hand into Stiles’ pocket, pulling out the foil packet. Derek looks up at him with wide, amused eyes and Stiles goes red.

“I-I, it um… Scott gave it to me. I didn't ask, I swear. I don’t want in your pants,” Derek looks at him differently, stepping away a little, “No! No, I mean—Fuck. I mean, I mean, I  _do_. But like, I wanna get in your personality’s pants, too. Like, you. Like…” Stiles sighs and gives up when Derek starts laughing at him.

Derek gives a soft peck to his lips and Stiles blushes away the embarrassment, rubs his fingers through the other man's hair, “Come on, I want to do something with you."

He takes Derek back into the house, soft, sweet kisses and steady feet. Boots left by the locked door and jacket discarded on a kitchen chair, they make their way upstairs and quietly enter Scott's room, couple dozing off in their bed.

Stiles lays on the mattress, Derek falling in next to him. Stiles lays close, letting him curl into his space, indulging himself completely by kissing Derek's hairline and parting his legs so one of Derek's can drape over his. Derek lets out a content sigh and his eyes close, lashes fluttering against Stiles' exposed shoulder.

Derek feels a nudging at his hand and can't - and doesn't want to - suppress the smile that overtakes his mouth. Stiles' hand slips effortlessly into his, fingers intertwining. Their fingers bump to get into the correct spaces and Stiles gives a small chuckle, squeezing his hand when they've got themselves righted.

Derek's thigh tightens on his for a moment, mouth dragging up his shoulder, nosing at the fabric of his loose nightshirt. Stiles realizes that Derek isn't into his pajamas and looks over to him. He whispers, looking over Derek's bright eyes in the dim light, "Are you comfortable in your jeans?"

He shrugs, whispers back, "I can handle it. I... I don't want to get up."

"You don't have to." Stiles tells him, taking his hand back and popping the button open on his jeans. Derek looks at him with wide eyes but quickly gets with the program, rolling onto his back to get them off.

Someone stirs over on Scott's bed and they both freeze, looking for signs of anyone getting up. When it quiets down again, Derek lifts his hips and shoves the denim down, kicks it onto the floor.

There's another shifting across the room and Derek stays where he is, too distant for Stiles. He reaches over and grabs Derek's hand, giving a little tug for him to come closer. Derek is quick to do so, almost climbing on top of him, mouth on his neck this time. And Stiles arches to let him trace his tongue there.

A moan startles Derek, but it's not from Stiles' mouth. It's from Scott's bed, then a 'shh!', blankets shifting and the bed creaking lazily. He looks up at Stiles, and they meet eyes.

They break out in laughter. Obnoxious giggles and kicking feet, curling into each other for something to hold, something to share. The movement on the bed across from them ceases, shocked little gasps sounding out in Scott and Isaac’s tones. That just fuels Derek and Stiles on more, laughs needing to be muffled by each other's bodies, Derek shoving his face into the warmth of Stiles' chest, cushion of his shirt, and Stiles hiding his face against the ruffled tuffs of Derek's hair.

\--

Morning comes easily, Stiles coming to with Derek almost on his stomach, almost under him. Sometime in the night, Derek must have turned and Stiles had held onto him, spooning him closely. He’s instantly chewing away on his lower lip, finding his morning wood pressed against the lovely heat of Derek’s backside. He feels Derek stirring and he doesn’t know whether to quickly move away and pretend it didn’t happen or stay and pretend he’s sleeping, wait for Derek to make the move.

He takes in his surroundings. Isaac and Scott’s bed are vacant but the shades are still pulled closed, bedroom door cracked open just slightly. The morning light is coming through just so, casting the room in an orange glow. He suddenly wants to stay, kiss Derek awake and push him back against the mattress, wiggle down and take him slow and lazy.

Derek’s ass pushes back against him and he bites his lip hard, eyes squeezing closed to fight off a groan at the friction it gives. His hand clenches on his pillowcase, feeling himself slide between Derek’s cheeks not once, but twice again through the thin fabrics they’re both wearing. Stiles wishes there were two pairs of jeans between them and nothing at all at the same time. It’s a moral battle. He goes to move away because he really can’t handle it. He’s had dreams and Derek jerking off – or other things, _oh_ good god – loudly all week and last night they kissed again, one to make him shiver from more than the cold and wish they were back at Derek’s or at his own place for privacy.

A strong hand grips around his forearm, preventing him from going. Derek’s hoarse voice rings out, “No. No, don’t go.” He tries to pull away again, soft gasp leaving his lips but Derek isn’t having it, “No, do it. Please.”

Stiles groans at just the thought of it and Derek’s tug wins out, because he’s sliding back in, resting his dick between Derek’s cheeks and rutting. Derek presses back against it, dragging his own dick against the fabric of his boxers and the mattress, shoving his head into his pillow to stay quiet. Stiles lowers his head to the back of Derek’s neck, breathing out slowly, working up a rhythm that won’t stay put for long.

Derek’s insistent on proving that right. He bucks and wiggles, rotating his hips in a way that makes Stiles nip right at the very back of his neck, growl out against his skin. Derek shivers from head to toe and his hand shoots down, fondling himself through his boxers. Stiles grabs at Derek’s hip, hand delving under the fabric to get a good grip, grinding himself up and down against his ass. Derek’s the first to come, muffling a surprised shout into his pillow. Stiles follows soon after, feeling once again sixteen by coming fast in his sweatpants, making a breathy sound that has Derek moaning one last time.

Stiles pulls away slowly after, pressing a soft kiss to the teeth marks on the other man’s neck. Derek rolls to his back the same time Stiles does and they stare at the ceiling, getting their breathing back down to normal. Stiles is the first to peek over, seeing Derek’s blushing cheeks, fully awake eyes blinking away the dilation of lust. Stiles’ face reddens as well and he reaches out, touching Derek’s arm.

Derek’s eyes snap to looking at him immediately. Then Stiles is being bombarded by a kiss, forceful and a bit sloppy but Derek can’t help himself. Stiles puts a hand on his cheek to steady them, taking control of the kiss, bringing their lips together more delicately with less morning breath.

When they pull away Derek flattens on his back again, “Wow.”

“Yeah.” Stiles says, looking over Derek’s face; panic or regret or anger. He smiles when he sees none. Derek matches it, smile as bright as the sun.

“Can I shower here?” Derek asks, eyes flicking down, the mess he’s made probably starting to drip and seep and make a very unappealing feeling. Stiles gets up immediately, softening and uncomfortable in his sweatpants.

“Of course you can,” He tells him, checking the hallway and making sure the bathroom door is open, “Yeah, go ahead. Why don’t you go in and clean up and I’ll get some clothes out for you?” He starts to go around, pushing the blankets away and pulling up Derek’s bag.

“No.”

“Huh?” Stiles looks up, watching Derek stand up on shaky legs. Stiles’ eyes skim across his crotch, wet patch on the front center of his underwear, Derek’s cock still half hard and oh so very visible to Stiles. He manages to drag his eyes away kicking and screaming to catch Derek’s bright red blush, pull down of them hem of his shirt to try to hide it.

“S-Shower with me.” Derek stutters over it a little but has good reason with Stiles’ molesting eyes, so he finds himself only nodding, leaving the bags and quickly following him into the bathroom.

Scott will find out, but he can’t really find it in him to care. Not with Derek looking so adorably timid when he’s got the body of a god, giving him looks that are like asking before he takes kisses, making Stiles’ chest ache in the best way.

Admittedly, it’s pretty awkward in the shower at first. Blushing and hiding, but Stiles reminds himself that he’s twenty-two and stops, getting to work on getting clean. And getting Derek clean, because evidently he’s one of those guys that likes to work shampoo through someone else’s hair and watch their eyes droop shut in relaxation. Derek gives him soft kisses in return and lets his hands roam over his body. Stiles gets hard again but he ignores it, loving the way Derek’s lips press to the hollow of his throat.

They get out and towel off, scurry back into  the bedroom. Derek dresses in the color block blue sweater and gray jeans, thick socks. Stiles throws on his old brown sweater with the pattern and some sweats. He’s home, he wants to be at comfort level eleven.

Melissa must know they’re awake, because Stiles smells eggs and bacon as they descend the stairs. Scott shoots him a look as soon as he sees him. It causes a blush to rise on Stiles’ cheeks and he bumps Derek on their way into the kitchen. Derek sets an arm on his lower back to steady him.

His father’s drinking what’s probably his third coffee of the day so far, and Melissa’s handing them plates, telling them to take whatever they want. Derek looks timid so Stiles loads up his plate for him, “You need to eat. Don’t worry, Melissa has lived with Scott _and_ myself since we were little. She knows how much guys eat.”

After filling their plates, they sit at the table, Stiles and his father talk about tomorrow, how Stiles will probably be up at the crack of dawn to open his gifts. Isaac shouts from the living room – around a sugar cookie, Stiles thinks – that he’ll be doing the same thing. Derek looks pleasantly amused during the whole chat, eating slowly, just taking in Stiles’ world.

\--

Christmas

Being crowded around a bright Christmas tree in the morning is something Derek never thought he’d see again. Colored lights flickering slowly, dancing across people’s happy and excited faces. He wishes he got them better presents, but there’s not much he could do in the time frame he had.

Stiles is a ball of energy next to him, drumming his fingers on his crossed legs, waiting for Melissa to get her morning coffee and sit down. Melissa always gets a present first, it’s a tradition. She comes in and sits down, and Scott excitedly sets down his present in her lap. She gives everyone a smile and starts in on the bow, but cries of ‘you’re not saving the paper!’ and ‘rip it open. Tear it apart!’ have her laughing and pulling at the snowmen wrapping paper, ripping it open to reveal a cream colored box. She lifts the top, a dark green dress coming into view, silky and very beautiful.

“Oh, Scott. This is the one I wanted. I have been saving after this dress for a month and a half.” She smiles, holding it to her chest.

“The one from the store window.” He smiles, kissing her cheek.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She puts the dress back in the box delicately, smoothing it out.

They delve into the presents at full force after that. Derek’s family used to wait, everyone pick a present at a time, open it one at a time. It’s nothing like that in  Stiles’ home. They tear into the gifts, wrapping paper flying, people exclaiming in surprise and happiness.

A present gets dropped in Derek’s lap and Stiles is grinning at him, “Open it. Open it.”

Derek looks around at everyone, Scott kissing Isaac’s nose, having received a new lab coat with his name on it. Stiles’ father is looking over his new coffee cup and sweater, Stiles is holding the box of cufflinks Melissa got him. Isaac’s tearing open what looks like drawing paper and pens, Melissa still fawning over her dress and the perfume that John got her. Derek opens the present the way everyone else has, ripping it open, being met with a small, blue TARDIS.

Derek chuckles, “This is cute, Stiles.” He turns it in his hands, looking it over. He pokes at the door and it opens, showing a key with a blue cover top, “What is that?”

“What’s it look like?” Stiles sets a hand on his leg, smiling softly.

“A key. But to what?”

“What’s a place that’s blue and can make wonderful sounds and feelings?”

When Derek realizes what the key goes to, he swallows and touches in gingerly, “You gave me my piano room key back.”

“You deserved it. They should not have taken it away from you in the first place… And I didn’t know what to get the guy who has everything.” Stiles catches himself before he touches Derek’s face, letting his hand fall to his shoulder instead, sneak up to rub his thumb against his neck.

Derek shakes his head, “Thank you,” He sets the box in his lap and gestures for Stiles to grab the gift he knows is his. He grabbed them all from under the tree before they left, “It’s not much, considering. Just a few things I found.”

Stiles opens it with care pulling back the wrapping paper and lifting up one of the three books in the carefully-stacked pile. Derek made sure they were perfect, wrapped up by himself, not the man at the shop.

“Dude, this is a first edition Sherlock Holmes. How did you even find this?” Stiles brushes his hand over the cover delicately, opening it slowly, “It’s _signed_. Derek, it’s signed by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

“I know that.” Derek smiles.

“How did you--? Oh, damn it.” Stiles pulls him into a hug, arms around his neck, “You remembered I love books.”

“Of course I remembered,” Derek mumbles into his shoulder, holding him around his waist. They pull away and Stiles gives him the biggest smile, settling down to look at the rest of his gift, “The other ones aren’t as significant, just ones that I’ve read, ones you might like. And there’s another thing at the bottom.”

Stiles reads the backs of the other books, smiling to himself, “I think I’ll like these. Original, gruesome fairytales and something about werewolves.”

“Yeah, you can read them on the plane, and the trains, and the cabs.” Derek smiles.

“Planes, trains, cabs?” Stiles chuckles, picking up the little slip of paper he thinks is a bookmark. He glances at it, seeing a plane on the cover. He looks again, flipping it open, “Fuck.”

“Son?” John sets a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, looking at him in concern, “Stiles?”

John looks to Stiles’ hands, the plane ticket, “You bought him a trip to London.”

“I heard him talking to Scott about wanting to go. I just thought I’d help.” Derek explains, anxious by Stiles’ lack of good reaction.

“I’d be saving for two years.” Stiles says softly.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I just thought I could help.” Derek tells him, heart pounding.

Stiles sucks in a deep breath, clearing his throat, “Where’s yours?”

“What?” Derek asks, confused.

Stiles looks up at him, huffing out a laugh, “You think you’re not coming with me?”

Derek still looks confused when Stiles kisses his cheek and hugs him.

\--

Stiles is grabbed by the back of his vest, pulled down to the ground. A snowball explodes, meeting the tree that was supposed to be Stiles’ head. Stiles looks to Derek, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Derek tells him, going back to making snowballs like crazy. Stiles pulls himself up and takes the shiny red snowball maker from his war vest, digging it into the ground and popping out snowballs.

“They’re _so_ going down.” He mumbles, peeking over their fort. Stiles ducks back down as Scott pulls out the potato cannon and Isaac loads another snowball.

All is still.

Then Isaac’s diving over Derek and Stiles’ fort, tackling the younger man to the ground, shoving snow up the back of his jacket. Stiles howls at the chill, wiggling, trying to get Isaac off him. Derek holds back a laugh and grabs Isaac around the middle, standing both of them up. He drags him around, out into the open, a snowball to the pulled back collar of Isaac’s sweater.

“Let him go!” Scott yells, grinning, pointing the snowball gun at him, “Don’t think I won’t shoot!”

“Scott, it’s cold!” Isaac yelps when Derek presses it to his neck and takes it away.

Stiles stumbles up, running behind the line of cars in the driveway, trying to get to Scott. He rounds it and pounces on Scott at the same moment Isaac yells for him to watch out. Derek shoves the snowball down Isaac’s sweater and watches the theatrics as he falls to the ground and utters out “I’m melting! Oh, what a world!”

Derek can hear Stiles laughing then a grunt, Stiles taking a snowball to the face. Scott aims the cannon and fires, hitting Derek from far enough away that it just makes him stumble, but he falls to the ground anyway, coughing, pretending he’s dying. Isaac gives him a thumbs up for his acting.

“No!” Stiles runs over, dropping down next to Derek in the snow. He presses his hands to Derek’s chest where it hit him, “Stay with me!”

Derek holds back a chuckle. He reaches up for Stiles like he’s in a daze, “Auntie Em?”

Stiles leans down and takes his hand, “You’ll be alright. We can rebuild you.”

Derek pulls him closer, rising up just a bit, pulling Stiles’ lip between his teeth. Stiles laughs and kisses him, glove touching his cold cheek. Derek licks into his mouth effortlessly, making Stiles gasp softly. He pulls away after, giving a gasp of his own, going limp, his head falling to the side.

Stiles looks up to the sky and yells like Darth Vader, a long resounding “Nooooooooo!”

Melissa sticks her head out the door, “Time for dinner!”

Derek and Isaac snap their heads up, Scott giving his boyfriend a quick kiss before hauling him up into his arms and running for the house. Stiles helps Derek up and holds his hand, running after them.

The four of them shed their wet clothes and pull on news ones, sitting at the table with the famous McCall Christmas dinner and lots of blankets draped over their shoulders. Stiles has his knee against Derek’s under the table the whole time. After, they have the red velvet cake Melissa, Isaac and Derek made the day before in the living room, watching every classic Christmas movie showing on tv. Stiles falls asleep somewhere between Frosty the Snowman and Miracle on 34th Street.

He wakes to Derek’s arms around him, holding him secure and warm against him. They’re the only ones downstairs anymore, all lights off except for the Christmas tree, twinkling softly from in front of the window. Stiles lays his head on Derek’s chest again, listening to Derek’s heartbeat, the steady sound of him breathing. Derek’s hand comes up and runs over his hair. Stiles realizes he’s not wearing his glasses anymore, that they’ve been taken off him. Derek’s lips touch to the top of his head and he lifts up, meeting Derek’s lips to his own.

“I don’t want to leave.” Derek whispers after they part,  “I don’t want to lose this.”

“This?”

“How I feel. How you feel,” Derek squeezes him in his arms, “ _This_.”

Stiles touches their lips again, promises in a whisper, “You won’t.”

\--

Stiles takes his glasses off, pulling a bit of his shirt from his pants to clean them off. He smiles when a hand covers his eyes, lips press a sweet kiss to the back of his neck. Stiles chuckles and turns, sliding his glasses back into place.

“I think I was overcharged for coffee, but it’s really fucking good.” Derek tells him, watching him tuck his shirt back in. The way the crisp, cream fabric lays against Stiles’ body makes Derek want to cover him in bite marks, which there’s probably still some healing on his collarbones. Stiles pushes his hair back and takes his cup from the cardboard holder, sipping at it.

“Very good. Thank you.” Stiles pecks his lips, smiling when Derek tries to chase his lips back for more, “We’ve got the London Eye at one, and we’ve already found where 221B is supposed to be – which was fucking amazing, by the way. Christ, I thought I’d piss myself. Then there’s ‘Spot the TARDIS’ at one-thirty. It’s noon, so we could have lunch somewhere.” Stiles rambles a bit, walking down the street with Derek at his side. They’ve been wandering the city for hours and Derek absolutely loves it. He hasn’t had a bad day in three weeks, and isn’t about to start now. Not with Stiles right by his side, like always, with that handsome face and adorable smile.

After a seven block walk, they discard their empty cups when Stiles finds a place and almost drags Derek in. It’s a somewhat classy restaurant, nothing black tie. He gets them a table and sits with him, Stiles grinning at him, staring with big eyes.

“What?” Derek chuckles at him, but Stiles doesn’t have to answer. The tapping of piano keys ring out in the restaurant and Derek looks, seeing a white baby grand off to the side, looking something like a small dance floor accompanying it. There’s a few kids at the piano, just pressing a few keys and giggling. He looks back to Stiles, “You set me up.”

“It wasn’t premeditated, I promise,” Stiles says, smiling with teeth, “I promise! I just saw it when we were walking by and I thought, you know… You haven’t attempted it since Dr. Morell came by almost a year ago.”

“Stiles, there’s… There’s people here. A lot of people. I can’t just go up there and play.”

“The kids are doing it.”

“So? I’m not a kid. Stiles, I can’t do it. It’s hopeless, a lost cause. I _can’t do it_.”

“Derek, I know you can do this. I know.”

“It’s useless, Stiles. _I’m_ useless at it. I can’t play. I’m… No, I won’t do it.”

“Asshole, don’t you dare do this to yourself. You mean the world to me, you are not useless. I don’t think you’re useless, isn’t that enough?”

Derek sighs, “Stiles, I—“

“Get your ass in front of that piano, or I swear…” Stiles looks at him, deadly serious.

Derek breathes in deeply, glancing back over to it. The kids have gone, and it’s just sitting there. Intimidating him. He looks back to Stiles, blowing out his breath. He stands shakily, clearing his throat. Stiles smiles at him softly, eyes wide in surprise.

He takes care in looking at his shoes on the way to the piano, not wanting to look at anyone else, for fear he might run from the restaurant. Soon, he’s standing in front of the piano, looking less intimidating than when it was far away. He touches it delicately, sitting down on the bench. He’s so nervous he almost misses it. But he slides in and swallows thickly, letting his fingers fan out over the keys.

He brings them back and rubs at his hand, choking back a panic attack. He looks back to Stiles, who’s on the edge of his seat, giving him an encouraging smile, showing how much he wants him to play with just his body language.

He can do this. He can do this for Stiles. He can do this for his family, new and old. He sets his fingers over the keys. He can do this for _himself_. He presses down carefully, clearing his mind of anything but Stiles and the piano. He starts to play something mindlessly; recognizes it after a moment as Atlas Hands by Benjamin Francis Leftwich, a song that he listened to on Stiles’ iPod on one of the trains while Stiles read and held his hand. He watched Stiles focus on the story, sunlight streaming through the windows and casting a lovely glow over his freckled ivory skin. He wanted to capture that moment forever, just to look at someone who loves him so much, who became his savior, his friend. Derek wanted to smother him in kisses but didn’t want to interrupt the perfection.

His fingers skim effortlessly over the piano keys, like he never left. He knows every key by name and sound, how beautifully they all ring out. His hand doesn’t hurt. He feels happy. He feels… Amazing. More than amazing when he finishes and people start clapping. He looks back to Stiles, seeing tears streaming down his face as he applauds with enthusiasm. He gets up, and hears his name being said distantly, someone recognizing him maybe. He goes up to Stiles and brushes his tears away with his thumbs, bending to give a soft kiss to his lips.

“I knew you could do it.” Stiles tells him, leaning up to kiss him again. Derek’s heart pounds because he realizes that Stiles is the one that told him that from the beginning, and meant it with all his heart.

A video of Derek taken by a cell phone shows up on Youtube the next day, with sixty thousand views and rising, over a thousand comments about Derek coming back to music. Scott calls and tells Stiles about it, and Derek’s phone gets clogged with people asking him to play in their music halls again, with their symphonies again, nationally again.

With Stiles with him every step, Derek accepts.


End file.
